Authentic Japanese Bukkake!

Criticizing porn may be making me rich, but believe me, the money (unlike the groupies) ain't easy. The intellectual vigor . . . world-historical perspective . . . dewy prose I bring to you every week—you think I just pull that crap out of my butt? It takes work, my friends. And frankly, sometimes I could use a hand. This week, since we'll be closely examining artful Japanese bukkake (which translates as "lots of guys blowing their loads on some lady's face," or, if you pronounce it a little differently, "taxi"), I asked video artist and my (sigh) sort-of girlfriend Donna to do a girl's-eye-for-the-straight-guy thang and bust out some trenchant observations about chick-slick skin flicks. After I quoted the appropriate Prince lyrics, she agreed 2 come by give U all a piece … of her mind.

You may remember Semen Club 2 (Waap Entertainment) from such Dirty Pornos columns as the Consumer Guide. Here's what I had to say about it then: "Drunkenly surfing pop-cult-to-porn Japanese fetish site jlist.com one typical late night, I discovered [Semen Club 2 star] Yui Kayama. … If regional coding didn't prevent me from playing it on my Xbox, it probably would've been a Pick Hit.” I went on the give the movie a D Plus, "revised upward since I jerked off to the cover a couple times." (Jokes, like lasagna, are always better the second time around!)

Anyhow, hours later I downloaded Herosoft's Hero DVD Player 3.0 shareware—which heroically circumvents regional coding—to my ex-girlfriend's laptop, which I've been borrowing for months, and masturbated for approximately two full days.

Which brings us to Donna and me sitting chastely on my couch, trenchantly observing Yui Kayama getting creamed. The three-hour-long Semen Club 2 opens, simply enough, with a close-up of Yui's smiling face, in profile, hovering against a black background. A ladybug-patterned hairclip holds her bangs back. Immediately, a man, his penis pixilated, as genitalia always are in J-porn, strides into the screen and deposits a tangle of gummy spooge onto the tip of her nose. One snotty line gently draws in and out of her nostril as she breathes. Do you know that unbearable ticklish feeling you get when your nose drips in the cold weather? Yui endures this for the next nine minutes and 41 seconds, as dude after dude silently approaches and squirts onto her right eyebrow, cheeks, the bridge of her nose, and, from behind, down her forehead.

We witness much of this, steady, crystal clear, and with measured cuts, in almost abstract ultra-ultra close-up. Donna, who has worked with paraffin wax, hot glue, resin, and "several other oozing materials" in her sculptures, took particular interest in the cum's character and the composition resulting from it being splattered seemingly indiscriminately across young Yui. "Texture, form," Donna summarized. Whateva!

Later, Yui, legs folded beneath her, ankles splayed, sheds a Daisy Mae red-and-white-checked top and brown corduroy skirt and takes it on her left armpit, right foot, face (natch), thigh, and the crotch of her plain, gray panties. In the beginning of the scene, pretty piano music plays, and a fully clothed Yui chatters. But as the first man closes in, the music cuts out abruptly, and Yui closes her teeth and turns toward the dick.

Donna likened Yui's subsequent girlhood-caricaturing voice-whimper to baby talk, and the copious jizz on her face to spit-up and otherwise slathered Gerber's. (I call it man grits.) Of course, mindful of the fact that Japanese is a language and not gibberish, Donna guessed at what this infantalized being might be saying: "I like it when it's a surprise!"; "That was a little one!"; "I have a cum mustache!"

Donna also thought Yui resembled, after the dozen-or-more-shots facials, an extra in the "Thriller" video with "skin melting off of her." Going for the high-cult perspective, she then described a hardened line of cum on a pleated skirt as having "the surreal character of flesh being melted across bent spaces," á la "Dalí and Tanguy." Donna found the scene in which guys jizz on Yui's hair, however, reminiscent of Matthew Barney. "It's so sculptural," she said of the "viscous" lines criss-crossing Yui's fine, clean hair, which for once is completely let down. (Yui, again naked and surrounded by black, slowly twirls her fingers in it and pulls strands to her mouth before the men begin.) "And abstract—there's no narrative to associate with her expressions," since she merely gazes at the camera, unsullied and apparently unexcited. My thoughts exactly.

For the expression of femme pleasure, however, one need ogle no further than the scene, shot from overhead, in which Yui sits on a right-angle-folded futon and drags a mini pink vibrator with corded remote across her tiny black-bodysuited figure, nip to nip, on down to the man in the boat. Donna and I loved this shit. As Yui cries out jaggedly, hand over clittie, she pulls her arms from under their shoulder straps and her small, pert fruits spring into view. "How often do you get to see a slow, contemplative close-up of a trembling tit?" Donna marveled. She also identified a "dialectic of pleasure": Yui, the camera buzzing intoxicatingly around her face, almost seems to be in pain as she orgasms, and her shoulders slump uncharacteristically; but she calms noticeably as the men step up, at the height of her pleasure, and slash her face violently with their semen.

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